


Alone With You

by Emela



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, POV Derek, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela/pseuds/Emela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“It wasn’t your fault,” Stiles says, pulling his head back and tilting Derek’s chin up so that he’s forced to look into those eyes. They’re carefully blank, like Stiles is afraid to show any kind of emotion. Derek tries to fight the lump in his throat at the realisation that even the blankest of looks from this kid means more to him than the thought of pack right now.</em>
</p><p>Stiles comforts Derek after Boyd's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone With You

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Alone With You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817411) by [droptheother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/droptheother/pseuds/droptheother)



> I'm on hiatus at the moment, but I've been feeling really low and when that happens I tend to write Derek being comforted fics. I only wrote it to make myself feel better, but since I actually finished I thought I may as well post it. I also wrote it in like an hour so if there are any mistakes feel free to let me know! 
> 
> This fic also partially fuels my need for an explanation why Stiles knew about Derek's relationship with Kate (because the TW writer's have so many plot holes!!) and also just acts an ode to the fact Derek Hale gets out of his bed every morning. The man is an inspiration and I love him dearly <3

Derek doesn’t know how to react. At one time, he thinks he would have. But not now, and that alone terrifies him; that he might never again know what to do. 

Blood- Boyd’s blood- is filling up the room with the water.

This is the proof.

The proof that he can’t do this. He failed his family, every single one of them, and now he has failed his pack. Or, at least, the pack he had stupidly hoped for. It _is_ stupid, really; craving family when you don’t deserve one; trying to make something work when you know the reason it never will is you.

There are noises everywhere; Cora is crying somewhere in front of him, Lydia beside her, whispering something to her. It's not something he has never associated with her before- compassion- but it’s something he’s glad to learn of now. At least someone can do the right thing by his sister.

He wants to shrug the hand off when it comes down on his shoulder, because he shouldn't get comfort. It’s even worse when the fingers squeeze tight, making their presence more known, and he realises they belong to Stiles.

Out of everyone, Derek depends on Stiles to be angry with him. It’s never full-blown anger, not enough to make Derek feel small, but enough that he remembers he shouldn't get to feel the softness of a kind word anymore, that things aren't _easy_ anymore. Sometimes he thinks what it would have been like to have had met Stiles- he doesn't know why Stiles, doesn't want to let himself think about it-before he fire, or even in New York. Stiles, with his snarking and biting, keeping him grounded. Stiles, who Derek thinks about when he needs a rational voice to guide him, to remind him: it's your fault you're alone now. 

Anger is what he's always gone by. But this. This, Derek can’t handle. The gentle touch of Stiles’ hand on his shoulder, telling him _it’s okay._ It’s not okay, but what makes his gut clench, what makes him feel sick, is that he wants it to be okay. He wants it to be okay so fucking badly. 

Closing his eyes, he tries to drown everything else out; ignore the uneven rise and fall of his own chest, telling him he's stopped breathing. It’s only when Stiles crouches down in front of him and places both hands on his shoulders does he understand he’s choking on nothing, that he  _can't breathe._

 _Go_ _od,_ he thinks. This is what he deserves, but Stiles isn’t letting it take him; telling him to breathe, to mirror his own slow breaths.

Derek wants to yell at him, to tell him to fucking go; to leave, like everyone always does. Through a door or in the ground, they always leave one way or another. The worst thing to happen to a person, always his fault.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t yell, instead letting Stiles’ hands run from his shoulders and down his arms until his fingers are lacing through his. Because the worst thing to have ever happened to Stiles isn’t his fault. Stiles, damaged, hyper,  _good,_ isn't his own personal fuck up. And maybe that’s why he leans in a little, just for a moment, wanting to be closer to this kid, who's not so much of a kid anymore, that hates him because of him, and not what Derek had done to him. Stiles, who doesn’t blame him as Scott does, who saves him. Every time, without question.

He doesn’t deserve that either.

“You should have let me drown in that pool,” he whispers, not sure if he means to. 

Everyone has left, he realises- at some point they must have left, taking Boyd’s body too- but Stiles is still here.

_Why are you still here?_

“Sorry,” Stiles says. It's unusual for Stiles _,_  to say so little,but Derek doesn’t find himself wanting to ask or look up to find out if there are words hanging there unspoken, torn between feeling guilty in wanting to hear something funny, or even soft, and knowing he shouldn't want it. That he can’t have it.

“Come on,” Stiles says then, and Derek feels fingers gently brushing back and forth across his hands. "Derek," Stiles whispers," and suddenly he's being pulled forward. His body moves obediently, not sure how to refuse, not sure when he started trusting Stiles so easily.

He barely remembers walking to the Jeep, but there’s a good chance that’s because Stiles hasn’t stopped looking at him the whole time, stepping backwards and keeping one hand securely around his neck. Objectively, it’s a little weird, and Derek wants him to stop, to turn away; to stop treating him like someone who matters. But then again, maybe that's the point. Maybe if Stiles stops looking, Derek will run; run like he knows he should this time, before he starts letting himself believe in something- someone- again. Like he believed Erica, Boyd and Isaac might just be a second chance. Maybe Stiles knows that, too smart for his own fucking good. 

He wants to run; wants so many things. Laura. His Mom. For Kate never to have happened.

Not to feel so fucking broken. 

He isn't aware he's sobbing until he’s on a bed. Stiles’ bed, he thinks; and maybe this is the part where he should say something, open his mouth and remind Stiles why he has to go- that Stiles doesn't have to take care of him- but he can’t, because Stiles is slowly climbing into his lap and wrapping his arms around him.

Hugging him.

Derek doesn’t remember the last time someone hugged him. Can’t even remember so much as a handshake, and it breaks something inside him.

He can’t hug back. He doubts he can do so much as turn his head right now, but the tears come faster, grow louder, and he knows he’s shaking because Stiles’ hold on him becomes tighter and there’s a mouth just above his ear telling him to _let it out._

That,  _It's okay, Derek._

_I_ _'ve got you, okay?_

_Shhh._

Derek's never been this close to Stiles’ scent before, and he can’t help but breathe it in now. He smells anxious and sad, two things Derek doesn’t expect. He's never imagined Stiles as that guy; the one who lets you cry on his shoulder. He’s a problem solver, and while opinionated, he's objective. Derek isn’t Scott or Lydia, he isn’t Stiles’ Dad. He isn’t someone Stiles has any reason to want to be here for, like a stranger’s kid crying in front of you when there is nobody else around.

A burden.

“Stop that,” Stiles chides, but his tone is soft, his fingers lightly brushing through Derek’s hair. “Whatever you are thinking, just stop.”

Derek briefly wonders what Stiles thinks he is thinking; wonders if he can read him better than he realises. To say he is terrified of that…Derek doesn’t even know how to measure it up to something.

Derek has always felt safe from the kind of person Stiles is; the kind of person who can tear down walls, if he wants to. The frown on Derek's face is something almost permanent now, and even though he's glad of how easily it pushes people away, he knows it's breaking him too. Derek isn’t sure it’s even an option to let someone in anymore. 

Even if he wanted to.

Yet, here Stiles is, kissing his forehead and rubbing small circles into his back, and Derek feels his breath hitch as he remembers he once swore never to get attached again; as he realised that Stiles, somewhere along the line, has become- 

Derek will never love Jennifer. It's why she's easy. It's why she can't hurt him. He feels nothing when he's with her, sees nothing in her eyes, and he gets nothing in return. it's nothing like Kate, he's smart enough to know to never give himself over to someone like that again, but it’s strong enough to remind him that it’s the Jennifers of the world he’s been left with. That that's what he’s left himself with.

He can’t have brown, Bambi eyes and moles.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Stiles says, pulling his head back and tilting Derek’s chin up so that he’s forced to look into those eyes. They’re carefully blank, like Stiles is afraid to show any kind of emotion. Derek tries to fight the lump in his throat at the realisation that even the blankest of looks from this kid means more to him than the thought of pack. That Stiles feels like-

He doesn’t know what to call it, but he pushes the thought back down and keeps pushing until he thinks it safe enough to open his mouth to reply. Stiles needs words, lives on them, and for whatever reason serves as a constant reminder to Derek that he was once that way too. Maybe he didn’t talk as much as Stiles does, or feel compelled to have an opinion on everything, but Stiles reminds him what it felt like to feel easy around people. To be the first one to talk. The memory is so prominent around him sometimes Derek almost feels easy with himself again. Suddenly, he's a kid again. It's nice sometimes, until he remembers. 

“My claws, my fault,” he says, looking down, eyes fixating on Stiles’ t-shirt. It’s plain, but plaid fringes the sides, covering his arms; arm still wound tightly around him. He feels guilty for not moving away or asking Stiles to loosen his hold; for not doing anything but letting it happen. 

“The twins _used_ you, Derek,” Stiles says, and Derek flinches, surprised by the spike of anger that sours his scent. “I don’t get it. I don’t know anything, not really, but I do know my Dad once talked about a boy who curled up into him when he was sixteen and kept saying how sorry he was, over and over. I don’t know what happened to you to make you think the fire was your fault. I don’t know what the Argent's did, but it wasn’t your fault, okay?”

He places another kiss to Derek’s forehead, but doesn’t linger, perhaps uncertain how welcome the action is, maybe only realising now he’s done it. Derek doesn’t know either, but he thinks he won’t object- would maybe even lean in- if it happens again. The thought terrifies him. 

“I knew Kate…intimately,” he stresses the word, looking up at Stiles, hoping to see the recognition there, the disgust. He doesn’t know why it hurts so much when that's exactly what he's met with, tries hard to hold back the sob he feels bubbling pathetically in the back of his throat. 

By the way Stiles’ fingers flutter over his cheeks, he doesn’t succeed.

“I thought I was in love and that’s why it’s my fault,” he says, not sure why he’s trying to explain, but he can’t help it. Anyone else and Derek would just let the accusations come, but Stiles…Stiles makes him feel like a sinner in a confessional, craving forgiveness for things he knows he can never be absolved from.

“No,” Stiles says, shaking his head, once again forcing Derek to look at him. “ _Her_ fault, Derek. She manipulated and…fuck. It’s _disgusting_.”

Derek winces and nods, finally finding it in him to turn away because he just  _can’t_. He can’t be here, but even as Stiles scrambles off of him, letting him go, he doesn’t let _go_. “Please,” he whispers, trying to shake him off, hating that doesn't try very hard. That he wants Stiles to ask him to stay. 

“No, you don’t get to leave,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Not when I think you are deliberately misunderstanding me.”

“There’s nothing to misunderstand, Stiles,” Derek tries to bite back, but the words come out tired...pleading. “My family died because I couldn’t keep it in my pants. Laura was killed because I wasn’t looking out for her, like she _always_ did for me. I didn’t fight enough for Erica. I wasn’t a good enough Alpha and look what happened. Boyd died by _my hand._ Don’t tell me it’s not my fault, Stiles.”

Stiles sucks in a breath and leans forward, offering Derek his hands. He doesn’t take them, but Stiles leaves them in his lap anyway, palms up, like he thinks Derek might change his mind, that being able to touch him is something he thinks Derek can have. 

“Sometimes I have dreams my Dad blames me for my Mom’s death,” he says. “Some days I believe it, on others logic kicks in, but it never goes away. I’m not telling you what you feel isn’t real, but what you _think,_ Derek, isn’t true, and I have no idea how to get you to believe it, but I know I want to try." Derek frowns, not understanding and Stiles sighs, suddenly smelling nervous.  “You were abused. Used. Over and over, and not just by Kate. I- I’ve watched you die, Derek. Stabbed in the back, literally and figuratively. Been around enough to know you are _trying_ and that your past isn’t letting it work. It’s not your fault.”

Those words again. 

“You said I was disgusting,” Derek swallows, breathing Stiles in, so close again. Too close maybe. Not close enough. _Please,_ he thinks, not certain he knows what he's hoping for.  

“I said _it_ was disgusting.” Stiles sighs again. “Derek, please look at me.”

 _No_ , _don't make me._ But, of course, he does it anyway. Stiles' eyes are soft and Derek wishes they were harder, disapproving or rejecting. Something he can understand. 

“Blame yourself, although I wish you wouldn't," Stiles says. “Nothing I can ever say will stop you from doing that, I know, but listen to me when _I_ say, it isn’t your fault.”

Derek feels his lower lip tremble at that, his body shaking in a way it hasn't since the day Laura died. 

He can’t do this. He doesn’t want to do this, not again.

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles says again, and pushing himself up onto his knees, taking one of Derek’s hands and placing it over his heart. “It’s not your fault.”

Derek shakes his head, ignoring the steady rhythm beating in Stiles’ chest.

“I can’t have this,” he whispers, not even realising he has said the words aloud until Stiles tilts his head to the side.

“Can’t have what?” he asks.

_Don't._

“You,” Derek replies, turning away, thinking he is going to be sick. He’s not allowed to want anymore. Wanting is what always gets him in trouble, gets others in trouble. He doesn’t want to hurt Stiles, and even though it already feels like he's exposed more of himself than he ever thought he could again, he knows Stiles has the power to issue that final blow; the one that means him never getting back up again. The thought should have him running, but he’s so tired, and Stiles feels so safe.

He always feels safe.

Stiles’ breath hitches. “You want me?”

“Maybe,” Derek whispers, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry.”

There's a long pause and then Stiles' face is in front of his, searching. “Can I?" he asks. 

Derek doesn’t quite know what Stiles is asking for, but he nods anyway, deciding for the first time in a long time it might be okay to trust in someone. Even if only a little. Even if that trusts ever only extends to Stiles, like that first day in his bedroom. In this bedroom. 

Derek doesn’t expect Stiles’ lips to brush his. He doesn’t expect it at all, but he doesn't want to push him away. Even as he feels himself closing off, it's comforting, welcome, and opening his mouth, he lets Stiles’ tongue slip inside with a shaky breath.

It’s the gentlest kiss Derek has ever had and his hands tremble with it, new tears flooding his face because _he doesn’t get to have this._ “I’m not worth it,” he gasps into Stiles’ mouth, trying to make him understand.

“I think you are,” Stiles whispers back.

Derek shakes his head again, no.

Stiles runs his nose along Derek's cheek."Can't you trust me, just this once?" 

Derek smiles, despite himself, remembering that night in the pool. How he heard his own lie in his heartbeat when he answered.

"This isn’t how it's supposed to go," he says, trying one last time, because he has to. He doesn’t get the boy, the happily ever after, but when Stiles places a finger to his lips and lowers them both down on the bed, wrapping Derek’s head in his arms, letting him bury his nose in his neck, Derek finds himself pushing out the rest of the world. It’s scarily easy to do when Stiles has him pulled so close, and even though he knows Stiles will leave one day too- because that's how it goes- he can’t help but cling to Stiles tighter at the thought of having someone on his side for right now, fighting his corner.

It’s enough that he really tries to believe it.

***

Stiles doesn't leave.

**Author's Note:**

> My [ tumblr](http://pale-silver-comb.tumblr.com/) where I reblog Sterek to the point I forget another people exist.


End file.
